Full Circle
by Mikki13
Summary: Past meets present when Chuck and Sarah come face-to-face after a year apart. Prequel to "To Have and to Hold."
1. Chapter 1

"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it is yours forever. If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be." – Anonymous

"There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness." – Fredrich Nietzche

"Love Hurts" – Incubus

**One year ago . . .**

_Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the gap in the cutained window, highlighting the half-eaten trays of food, dirty laundry and discarded video games littering the floor, the desk, and every other cluttered surface of Chuck's room. Laying on his back with his arms stretched lifelessly on either side of him, Chuck stared vacantly at the ceiling and tried for the thousandth time to clear his mind. It didn't seem to work._

_Sighing heavily, the computer nerd fumbled along his rumpled comforter for the discarded sheet of paper, creased and slightly faded from over handling._

Dear Chuck,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I'm sorry for –

_Just as his heart began its by now familiar plunge inside the recesses of his chest, his door swung slowly open and his sister peeked inside._

"_Chuck," Ellie said hesitantly, trying not to wrinkle her nose, "You've been in here for three days. Are you ever going to get out of bed?"_

_In response, Chuck's arm fell back to his mattress, the letter dangling limply in his hand. "She left me, Ellie," he said tonelessly, liquid ice flooding his lanky frame._

_If Chuck had been looking at his sister, he might have noticed the tightening of her jaw and the flash of her eyes. As it was, he had returned to staring blankly at the ceiling._

"_I know, Chuck," she said, coming to sit on his bed. "But you can't just lay in bed all day. It isn't healthy."_

_Chuck slowly turned his head so that he was looking at Ellie, causing her to cringe at the expression in his eyes. "What else is there to do?" he asked, an unnatural hopelessness filling his tone._

_She paused for a moment, considering. "Well," she said finally, "what about that video game you always wanted to create?"_

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Late Friday afternoon in London brings with it many things: tourists hopping around town, trying to find the latest buzz; business people dashing to the nearest Tube station, eager to relax after a long week of work; theatre, night club, and restaurant employees scurrying along the sidewalks and the inside of shops, gearing up for that night's clientele.

All of it is regular, all of it is commonplace. But this particular late Friday afternoon brings with it something a little different. Because this particular late Friday afternoon finds Chuck Bartowski strolling down the bustling thoroughfare of Tottenham Court Road, a grin on his face and a swagger in his step. Well, the grin and the swagger are present until a suggestion is made by his colleague, one Josh Brown. In response to which, Chuck stops dead in his tracks and turns to the man with arched brow.

"A strip club?" he squeaks, staring at the red-headed man who had been his fraternity brother in Stamford. "Really? 'Cause I was just thinking we could order pizza and watch TV . . ."

"Oh, come on, Charles," his new business partner teases, slinging an arm around Chuck's shoulders as he begins to lead him toward the line. His green eyes crinkle around the corners as a grin slides across his face. "We just sold a cutting edge video game. We _have_ to go out and celebrate."

"See, that's the thing," Chuck states, ducking out from underneath his friend's arm. "I don't really equate seeing scantily clad women with celebrating."

Unfortunately, Josh has other ideas. (But then, he never had abandoned the whole frat boy attitude.) Ordering two tickets, he turns to Chuck with a smirk. "You always have been an oddball, Bartowski," he states, grabbing Chuck's arm and pulling him toward the doors. Before Chuck has another chance to protest, he's been pushed through the double doors of the club and guided to a table on the far side of the front row. "Sit back and relax, my man," Josh says, signaling a topless waitress with one hand and delivering a light backhand to Chuck's chest with the other. "You are in for a treat."

Chuck glances at his colleague dubiously, wishing for the hundredth time that Morgan had been more interested in video games and less interested in learning to cook for Benihana. But when the music starts and smoke fills the stage, he pushes the thought aside and reluctantly diverts his eyes to that night's entertainment. A woman dressed as a British police officer saunters onto the stage, creamy long legs fully revealed underneath her black skirt, tendrils of blonde hair pooling out from underneath her blue cap. Her back is to him, but something about the way she sashays onto the stage causes Chuck's stomach to tighten as he shifts forward on his seat.

"I told you you'd like it," Josh quips, ruffling Chuck's brown curls. But the computer nerd is too absorbed in the act to notice.

The woman sidles to center stage, curling her fingers around a thin metal pole and pulling off her cap. Leaning back with a slender knee curled in midair, her blonde hair spills over her shoulders as she shakes her head amidst murmurs of approval from the assembled crowd. She begins a slow dance around the pole, gyrating in time to the music even as she inconspiciously takes in various members of the audience. The way she moves causes goosebumps to break out onto his skin as unbidden memories struggle to resurface. And when her gaze finally lands on his table, Chuck's jaw drops, his brown eyes piercing into her own heated blue.

_Sarah Walker._

Her lips part, her forehead creases, and a hint of awe enters her eyes. For a moment, a wild thought flits through his mind that she's going to abandon her charade and come to his table, erasing the last year. But then a wave of resolve washes over her features, and she straightens her shoulders and blinks, looking away and continuing her dance.

If he'd been less shocked, Chuck might have noticed the apologetic look in her eyes before the sudden transformation. As it is, he's left to watch her in silence, his heart beating rapidly as the last year seems to close in on him. _Sarah. Here. Sarah. In London. Sarah. Five feet away._ The same Sarah who had abandoned him one year before, without so much as a verbal good-bye. The same Sarah who had captured his heart, turned his world upside down, and then left him with no more than a simple note.

That Sarah was up on stage in a London strip club, dancing for all the world to see and pretending as if she had not just seen him. Swallowing hard, Chuck's stomach drops to his knees when she unbuttons the top two buttons of her blouse, then sashays down the stairs and over to the roving hands of a muscular, middle-aged man. And when she grabs his tie and pulls him forward for a sexy kiss, her lips brushing heatedly against the man's mouth, a sharp pain pierces his chest and he jumps to his feet.

"I'm going back to the hotel," he states flatly, shaking off Josh's hand when it closes around his wrist.

"But, buddy," he protests, pointing toward the middle-aged man, "that could be you if you play your cards right."

Chuck glances toward Sarah, now leading the hulking man out of the room by his tie. Again, a sharp pain reverberates through his chest, and he narrows his eyes. "No, thanks," he says simply, but tension is evident in his tone. Before Josh can protest further, he turns on his heel and marches out of the club.

~*~

Smiling tantalizingly at her newest mark, Sarah pulls the man back to the nearest room, an unspoken promise shining within her eyes. When the door finally closes behind the pair, the man is only too eager to run his hands along every inch of her body. Unfortunately, before he can even reach for the buttons of her blouse, someone steps up from behind and clubs him over the head with an iron bar. The man immediately slumps to the floor with a muffled _thump_.

"You had me worried for a minute there, Williams," Agent Thompson states, and the bar drops onto the ground with a clatter. His tanned, whiskery face is creased in concern, highlighted by his neatly trimmed black hair. "What the hell happened out there?"

"Nothing," Sarah replies, answering easily to her new name as she unleashes a pair of handcuffs from her makeshift police uniform. She quickly places them on the mark's wrists, purposefully avoiding her partner's scrutinizing gaze. "I followed protocol perfectly."

Even as she says it, her thoughts are pierced by the same pair of brown eyes which have haunted her for the past year. Only this time, the image is accompanied by the uncomfortable knotting of her stomach muscles and an almost overwhelming sense of urgency. "I'll radio in for backup. You can finish this," she states, straightening up and grabbing her leather jacket off a nearby chair. "I have something I have to take care of."

"Something more important than Vladmir Dostoevsky?" Thompson archs a brow.

Sarah pauses for a moment, considering, before turning to her partner with a determined glint in her eyes. "Yes," she says firmly, then slips on her jacket and heads for the door.

"Williams, wait," Thompson barks, and she turns to find him staring at her out of narrowed eyes. "Who was that guy?"

Apparently, Thompson saw more than she thought. "I'm not sure," she says simply. "But I have to find out."

It's to his credit that he doesn't stop her from leaving.

~*~

The London sky slowly darkens, sending shadows skittering along the walls of the St. Giles' hotel room. Decked in nothing more than a dark blue t-shirt and jeans, Chuck's converses beat a well-known path into the plush red carpeting while his mind continually drifts to memories he does not wish to entertain.

**One year ago . . .**

"_Congratulations, Mr. Bartowski," General Beckman stated, leaning forward in her seat. "The Ring has been infiltrated, the Intersect erased from your mind. You're now free to live your life without government interference."_

_Gone were the requests to have Chuck join the CIA as an analyst. Gone were the inquiries into what he had decided to do with his life. After six months of dealing with Chuck's ineptitude as the Intersect 2.0, both the United States government and Beckman herself wanted nothing more to do with him. And even though he knew he should probably feel insulted, he couldn't help the immense feeling of freedom which bubbled through his veins._

_A slow grin spread across his face as he turned to look at Sarah, standing directly behind him and a little to the side. The moment he saw the look on her face, the grin faltered. Her features betrayed no trace of emotion, no hint that Beckman's words had penetrated her defenses. When Beckman finally disappeared from the screen, he took a step toward her, ignoring Casey's grunt and eventual departure from the Castle._

"_Sarah?" he began tentatively, his heart beating a frantic rhythm in his chest._

_Her head whipped in his direction, all emotions almost perfectly concealed from her blue gaze. Even so, a hint of something that Chuck couldn't quite place penetrated the surface. "You're free, Chuck," she said simply, attempting a smile._

_Even though her smile didn't quite reach the hidden emotions in her eyes, it caused him a twinge of relief. "I know," he replied, his grin returning slightly. "It feels . . . good."_

"_So what are you going to do with your life, Mr. Bartowski?" _

_Her words emerged almost throatily, causing a flicker of hope to resound within his chest. He took a tentative step in her direction. "I think the relevant question," he said, swallowing hard before continuing, "is what are you going to do with _your_ life, Agent Walker?"_

**Present Day . . .**

A pang pierces Chuck's chest, and he rips himself from his memory, running shaky fingers through his curly hair. Unbidden, his eyes drift to the front pocket of his suitcase, his mind drifting to the worn sheet of paper carefully concealed inside. But then he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, willing his mind to go peacefully blank. Before he really knows what he's doing, he grabs his wallet from the nightstand and heads quickly to the door, perhaps intending to visit the pub downstairs.

But when he opens the door, the breath is knocked from him as ice water seems to flood his chest. Standing in front of him with her fist poised to knock is Sarah Walker, a long leather jacket wrapped around her sinewy frame.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: While I generally don't publish updates quite this quickly, I was so overwhelmed by your amazing responses to Chapter 1 that I decided to speed things up this time. (Typically, I'll update about once a week.) Thank you all for your wonderful reviews; they really made my day. I hope you like this chapter as much as you liked the first.

~*~

**One year ago . . .**

_Cars outside Sarah's hotel piled into an early evening traffic jam, punctuated by the discordant sounds of honking horns, loud music, and exclamations from drivers who wanted to be anywhere but stuck on East Burbank Boulevard. But the blonde spy barely noticed. Gazing unseeingly at the chaos outside, she held her arms tightly across her chest as her earlier conversation with Casey echoed through her mind._

"_So you're really going to leave," Casey grunted. "I thought you had a bright, shiny future planned with Our Boy Genius."_

_Her brow furrowed even as her shoulders visibly tensed. "What do you mean?" she asked, turning to face the NSA Agent._

"_What do I mean?" Casey repeated, shooting her a dubious look. "I mean that I thought you'd be staying here with Bartowski."_

_Sarah's heart skipped a beat. "Why would I do that?" she questioned lightly, her eyes suddenly darting to the desk by her side. Ruffling through her new mission dossier, she turned so that Casey was treated to a limited view of her face. "I have orders to be in Europe tomorrow morning." But even as she said it, her chest twisted uncomfortably. _

"_Wow," Casey muttered. "That'll be an interesting conversation. Make sure to record it for me." And with that, he grabbed his own paperwork and marched out of the Castle._

_When he was gone, his words played through Sarah's mind. _An interesting conversation. _The idea of telling Chuck that she was leaving hadn't even occurred to her. How was she supposed to look into those innocent brown eyes and tell him that she wasn't going to stick around? That after three years of waiting for her, she was going to leave?_

_Exhaling shakily, she squeezed her eyes shut tight and leaned forward on the desk. An unfamiliar emotion built within her chest, rising into her throat, and she had to take several deep breaths to force it away._

~*~

**Present Day . . . **

Chuck's heart stops as he stares at the blonde framed in his doorway, every thought fleeing his mind. "Sarah," he murmurs, and the word acts as a stimulant, causing his heart to race frantically within his chest. "What . . . what are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same question," she replies, smiling softly as her blue eyes glint with unspoken emotion. "But you always did have a way of surprising me, Chuck Bartowski." Even now, she has a hard time believing that it's really him standing before her. That after all this time, Chuck has somehow ended up in London, and that their paths have crossed.

Chuck's mind is stuck, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on the woman he hasn't seen for over a year. "I sold a video game," he states off-handedly, his voice sounding as if it's coming from a million miles away.

Sarah's eyes widen in delight. "Chuck, that's great," she exclaims, placing a slender hand on his bare arm. The moment her fingers curl around his moderate bicep, his line of sight drifts to her hand and unexpected prickles of electricity course along the surface of his skin. When he finally looks up, she pierces him with her blue gaze, darkened with heightened emotion.

Unfortunately, as he gazes deeply into her eyes, the past year suddenly rushes back with surprising clarity.

The electricity coursing through his skin stops abruptly and he visibly stiffens, dropping his arm to his side. "How did you find me?" he asks crisply, taking a step back and trying not to notice as she cringes at his abrupt change in demeanor. Even so, an unwelcome pang radiates heavily through his chest.

"I have connections," she says simply, and he notices that little lines have formed around her eyes. "Chuck, I –"

"Right," he interrupts shortly, leaning against the wall with crossed arms. And then, because he feels like he's walking in a dream, and because the ache is still so prevalent, he continues: "Kind of like the connection you had tonight."

This time, Sarah visibly flinches, an expression of disbelief wafting over her features. "What do you mean by that?" she asks, the emotion fizzling from her eyes as a mask slips perceptibly into place.

It's a testament to how much pain she's caused him that the normally even-tempered Chuck Bartowski continues. But after a year of heartache and a night of anguish, his even-temper is virtually non-existent. "Come on, Sarah," he retorts, narrowing his eyes. "You were all over that guy."

Sarah stares at him hard, the effect of his words clear upon her face. Before he can stop her, she closes the door and advances several steps into the room. And even though the action causes his shoulders to tighten, she continues unabated. If Chuck Bartowski wants to have it out with her, she's going to give him that chance.

"It was a mission, Chuck," she replies wearily. "This guy is important to our operation." It's to his credit that he's gotten her to say this much. But then, he always has had a way of getting under her skin.

"Really?" Chuck returns, glaring at her with tightened jaw. And even though he knows he should stop, he can't help but continue. "Because it looked like a little bit more than a mission to me, Sarah."

Breathing in deeply, she runs her fingers through her long blonde hair. "What do you want me to say, Chuck?" she finally asks, forcing herself to meet his angry stare. Her chest prickles uncomfortably at the expression in his eyes.

For a moment, Chuck considers saying something more. But then his entire body deflates, and he closes his eyes, leaning heavily against the wall. "Nothing," he replies dejectedly, and Sarah's guarded expression fades when she hears the tone of his voice. "I don't want you to say anything. After all," he finishes resignedly, "It's not like I was ever anything more than your asset."

The words are like a sucker punch to Sarah's gut, knocking her breathless as she takes in his dejected expression. When his face twists painfully soon after, a deep ache slices through her core. Almost as if she's being pulled forward by some outside force, she moves quickly to his side. "Is that what you really think?" she asks softly. And before she knows what she's doing, her index finger is tracing a shaky line over his cheek, slightly stubbled after the long, hard day.

Her heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and he pierces her with his intense brown gaze. And when their eyes lock, countless words passing unspoken between the two of them, her breath catches in her throat. Her hand rises automatically to the back of his head, and she laces her fingers through his curls, pulling him toward her for a desperate kiss.

Chuck stares at her in shock, his eyes flying wide. But when she sucks eagerly on his lower lip, sending a chill rushing down his spine, he groans hungrily and lets himself go. Pulling her flush against his body, his lips join Sarah's in a frenzied dance, tasting every inch of her supple mouth.

Every thought, every memory, every grievance is erased as he revels in the feel of her in his arms and the texture of her tongue as it plunges into his mouth. Purring deeply in her throat, Sarah runs her nimble fingers along his heated back, causing goosebumps to break out onto his flushed skin. And when she pushes her pert breasts against his chest, his breathing turns ragged and he begins backing her toward the bed.

She sheds her jacket just as they fall back onto the mattress, her legs wrapping around his waist as he fumbles clumsily with the buttons of her blouse. She's still wearing her short black skirt, the soft flesh of her inner thighs rubbing provocatively against his hardened groin. "Sarah," he murmurs into her mouth, maneuvering his hand into the space between her top four buttons.

When his fingers slip underneath her bra, she moans and tightens her legs. "God, Chuck," she breathes, arching toward his touch.

Unfortunately, a sharp jolt pierces through his mind at the sound of his name emanating breathlessly from her lips. Stiffening as he is suddenly plunged back into reality, he pushes himself upward on his hands, reluctantly abandoning the smooth contours of Sarah's chest. "I can't do this," he says heavily, gazing steadily at her forehead as he reaches behind him to unhook her legs.

At the gesture, her lips part and her brow furrows. "Chuck, what –"

But he interrupts before she can finish. "Why did you leave me?" he demands, his eyes glinting as a deep seated pain fills their depths. "If I was more than an asset, then why did you leave?" It's a question the old Chuck Bartowski never would have dared to ask. But after a year of wondering, it's something the new Chuck Bartowski has to know.

Unfortunately, it's also a question that causes the all-too-familiar mask to slide back into place on Sarah's face. "I had orders," she states calmly, her gaze quickly turning inscrutable.

Chuck shakes his head and rises to his feet. "I don't buy that, Sarah," he replies heatedly. "You had orders before I got the new Intersect, but you were going to stay then. Why did you leave?"

Sitting up, she stares at him for a long moment, the question hanging in the air between them as if an invisible barrier. Finally, when it's clear that he isn't going to give up without an answer, she pushes off the bed and takes a step toward him. "What do you want me to say, Chuck?" she asks quietly.

It's the second time tonight that she's asked the question, and Chuck takes it no better this time than he did the first. "How about the truth?" he snaps, creases forming around his eyes as he continues to gaze at her steadily.

The suggestion mingled with the tone of Chuck's voice causes Sarah's mask to waver for the slightest of instances, and a plethora of emotions radiates from her eyes. She opens her mouth to respond, but then quickly closes it. She repeats the gesture a few seconds later, but then shakes her head and purses her lips. "I had orders to be in Europe, Chuck," she says. "I had to follow them."

Chuck's shoulders slump and he hangs his head, running his fingers through his disheveled curls. "I can't do this anymore, Sarah," he repeats hollowly. He hesitates for the briefest of moments, then turns and walks across the room. "I need you to leave." And while his tone is strong, his hand shakes as he opens the door and waves toward the hallway.

A dull ache resounds through Sarah's chest, but Chuck's too busy avoiding her gaze to notice the distraught look which crosses her face. Finally, when it becomes obvious that he isn't going to back down, she takes a deep breath and grabs her jacket before crossing the room. Just as she's about to cross the threshold, however, she stops and looks at him. Reaching behind his head, she pulls his ear to her lips, whispering: "Park Plaza Riverbank, 714." She pauses for a moment, her lips a few millimeters from his ear, but then allows her hand to drop to her side. Stepping into the hallway, she casts him one last look before pulling the door softly shut behind her.

Left contemplating her parting words, Chuck gazes forlornly at the space she left behind.

~*~

**One year ago . . .**

"_I think the relevant question," Chuck said, swallowing hard before continuing, "Is what are you going to do with _your_ life, Agent Walker?"_

_He gazed at her out of soulful eyes, a thousand emotions reflected in their depths. When he took another tentative step in her direction, she felt her muscles tense, the mask slipping inadvertently back into place. And in that instant, countless images flashed within her mind._

_Her mother, walking out the door with a suitcase in hand, on the last night Sarah had ever seen her._

_Her father, handcuffed and being carted off to jail, apprehended after a decades-long search._

_Her father again, this time walking out the door of her hotel room, the last time Sarah had ever heard from him._

_Bryce Larkin, his blue eyes staring into nothingness, fresh blood pooling around his lifeless body. Her first partner, her first real lover, gone in an instant._

_And Chuck himself. Chuck, the man who had pierced her defenses in a way that no one else had ever been capable of doing, and entered her life so quickly it had nearly blindsided her. Chuck, the man who had spent the last six months attempting to force himself to learn moves he had been powerless to master. Chuck, the man who had never wavered in his affections, despite six months of discovering so many of the terrible things she had done in her past. Chuck, the man who had jarred her world and made her blood run cold every time she thought she had lost him._

And_, a little voice whispered inside her mind, _what was to stop her from losing him now?

_Gentle, loving Chuck Bartowski, who was standing before her, his heart in his eyes and a hopeful smile on his face._

_And while Sarah longed to return that smile, while she yearned to tell him what he wanted to hear, the knotting of her stomach and the cold tingling of her skin caused her to take an inadvertent step backward. "It's getting late, Chuck," she said, forcing a strength into her voice which hid the feebleness of her words. "You should get home. It's been a long day." _

_Chuck's face fell, but before he had a chance to protest, she flipped a switch, causing the door to the Castle to open slowly. He stared at her for a long moment, but when it became clear that she wasn't going to back down, he finally turned and walked through the door._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Thank you all for the awesome reviews I've been receiving for this story. They've meant so much. Of course, I'm starting to feel like I need to build a protective wall around poor Sarah, but that's beside the point. ;-) Seriously, your support is amazing. Thank you!!

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to Yokaputo, who was almost able to sneak a birthday past me. So Happy Birthday, sweetie!! I hope you enjoy the chapter.

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Chuck shuffles wearily into his makeshift office at Lionhead Studios' London branch, on loan for the simple purpose of giving him a place to work while logistics are discussed. The shelves are bare except for a few computer books and a thin layer of dust, the only decorations a fake plant and an impressionist painting. Not that he notices. His eyes are red from lack of sleep, his slightly shaky hand clutched around a vente cup of coffee. Shuffling to his desk, he gulps down a mouthful of scorching bitter liquid while punching the "on" button to his computer. But before he can take a seat in his mid-backed chair, an entirely too cheerful voice sounds from the doorway.

"Chuck, my man," Josh intones, marching across the small office, his red hair hanging in his eyes. "It's about time. Where have you been, buddy?"

"Sleeping," Chuck says, yawning. "Well, sort of." Tilting his head back, he takes another swig of coffee.

"You sleep too much," Josh complains, perching himself on Chuck's desk. Grabbing the coffee from Chuck's hand, he takes a swig before handing the cup back to his startled partner. "We're bright young men of the world, Chuck. We've got things to do."

"Really?" Chuck states, wiping off the cup's rim with his index finger. "Like what?"

"Like what," Josh scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Like women, Chuck." When Chuck's expression turns skeptical, Josh rushes ahead. "No, really," he says. "Last night when I was prowling the pub, I met this woman. Her name's Amanda, and she's totally _hot_, if you get what I mean." He raises his eyebrows several times in quick succession. "The problem is, she won't agree to go out with me unless I can get a friend for her friend. So, I'm thinking to myself, what lucky guy can I set up with this gorgeous British woman? And just like that," he snaps his fingers, "the answer came to me. My old buddy, Chuck Bartowski." He finishes with a flourish of his hand, staring intently at Chuck.

"Let me get this straight," Chuck says slowly, cocking his head. "You want me to go on a double date with you so that you can get laid?"

"Exactly!" Josh exclaims, pointing at Chuck and grinning. "See? We're sympatico, buddy."

"Uh-huh," Chuck replies, arching a brow. "Only I'm not going on a double date with you, Josh."

Josh's face falls. "But why?" he asks, his forehead creasing.

"Well," Chuck says, desperately searching for a good excuse. Unbidden, the face of a gorgeous blonde spy pushes itself into his thoughts, causing his chest to clench. And when he tries to push the image away, it only becomes more powerful. Suddenly, his eyes glaze over as the previous night rushes back with remarkable force, a plethora of memories vying for dominance in his mind.

_The look in Sarah's eyes as she stood at his door._ Even now, he remembers the emotions which radiated from her deep blue eyes; emotions which caused his pulse to race as he held her gaze.

_The sound of her voice when she'd told him he'd been more than an asset._ Even though a sense of doubt washes over him at the memory, his heart skips soundly just the same.

_The touch of her body as it responded eagerly to . . ._

But no. No, he won't let himself do this. Gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes closed tight, Chuck forces these thoughts away, a dull ache reverberating through his lanky frame. But as he does so, another, more powerful memory is forced to the surface: The sound of his name on Sarah's lips, murmured as if the entire year had never happened. And the blank expression on her face when he'd asked her why she'd left. Why she'd abandoned him with nothing more than a note, only to be found a year later in a strip club, where she'd looked right through him.

Chuck's muscles tense as his eyes regain focus, a steely glint reflected in their depths. "You know what?" he says abruptly, his tone firm. "Never mind. I'll go on the date."

Josh's grin quickly returns. "Awesome!" He replies, raising his hand for a high-five. Chuckling, the curly-haired nerd returns the gesture, their palms connecting with a slap. "Tonight, buddy. Our last night here," Josh says, slipping off Chuck's desk. "You won't be sorry. I hear these British chicks are real sex fiends."

"Greeaat," Chuck replies sarcastically, his eyes widening comically. Even so, a small smirk plays along the corner of his mouth. And when Josh steps out of his makeshift office a few moments later, he's almost able to ignore the guilty twinge which echoes soundly through his chest.

~*~

**One Day Earlier . . .**

"_Vladmir Dostoevsky," General Beckman stated, and a photo flashed onto the screen beside her. "International arms dealer who has been sighted selling weapons to some of the United States' fiercest enemies. We also have reason to believe that he maintains a database which will lead us directly to these criminals. Unfortunately, he's nearly impossible to corner alone without his highly paid and extremely skilled bodyguards."_

_Staring at the screen with furrowed brow, Agent Williams' blue eyes raked over the target's profile. "So what is our mission here, General?" she asked. And even though she hadn't been Sarah Walker for over a year, the straightforward air between the two women hadn't changed a bit._

"_Your mission, Agent Williams," the General replied, "is to pose as a stripper at Dostoevsky's favorite London strip club. Get him alone, and then Agent Thompson will help you subdue and arrest him." _

_This last was said with a glance toward Sarah's partner, who was standing beside her with crossed arms and creased face. But Sarah ignored the exchange, focusing instead on the guilty twinge reverberating through her chest. "A stripper?" she questioned skeptically. "Is that really necessary, General?" Unbidden, a pair of coffee brown eyes flitted through her mind._

_It wasn't the first time Agent Williams had disagreed with her supervisor over the past year. "Yes, Agent Williams," General Beckman replied tensely, scowling. "It's the best way to ensure that Dostoevsky is without his body guards. Is there a problem with this plan?"_

_For a moment, Sarah opened her mouth as if to argue. But years of training had clouded the impulse, and she shook her head several seconds later. "No, General," she stated, ignoring the look her partner was shooting her. "There's no problem."_

"_Good," Beckman said crisply. "Then you and Agent Thompson will arrest Dostoevsky and bring him back to our London base for questioning."_

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Sarah takes a deep breath, her gaze trained on the thick glass window as she watches her partner interrogate their newest mark. The fluorescent light above cuts through the darkness of the desolate room, shadows shifting intermittently along the walls whenever the cheap light flickers. The surreal effect contrasts sharply with the happenings in the interrogation room, where Dostoevsky is proving less than cooperative. Despite this fact, and even though Sarah knows how important the man is to the operation, she has to force herself to remain focused on the scene before her. Because even though she knows how important Dostoevsky's information might be, her thoughts continously return to the evening before and her encounter with Chuck Bartowski.

Unfortunately, her thoughts finally take over and her eyes glaze over. _Why did you leave me, Sarah?_ Chuck's words resonate through her mind, the memory of the look on his face causing a pang to pierce through her chest.

The memory is so fresh, so intense, that it slices through her professional resolve. And when her partner's voice cuts through her thoughts, it takes her a moment to come back to the present.

"Listen, Mr. Dostoevsky," comes Agent Thompson's wheedling tone, "we can do this the easy way or the hard way. My partner back there," he points to the double-paned window, "She'd much rather do this the hard way. But I think we understand each other. I think you know where I'm coming from. So I'm going to ask you again: _Where_ is the database?"

Leaning forward on her elbows, Sarah forces herself to focus as she studies the scene before her. The Russian man is chained to a peg in the floor, the metal chain hooked to a cuff which encases his wrist. His lips remain firmly clamped, a condescending gleam illuminating his reddened eyes. Agent Thompson paces the small chamber in frustration, his hands clutched agitatedly behind his back. And while Sarah knows that he's trying to play the good cop so that she can later come in and play his counterpart, she also knows that if the mark doesn't talk soon, the good cop routine will be thrown out the window. Even so, and despite the need for constant diligence, when a pair of brown eyes flashes impulsively through her mind, her focus is broken once more.

_What are you going to do with _your_ life, Agent Walker?_ This time, the words echo forward from over a year before, causing Sarah's stomach to knot as she remembers the emotion on Chuck's face. And along with the words comes a resounding sense of self-reproach, reverberating solidly through her chest. Because only a day afterward, she had left him with nothing more than a note, fleeing Burbank without a real good-bye. Even now, she can still see the pain in his eyes – the pain caused by _her_ actions.

Cringing, Sarah barely notices the commotion unfolding in the room before her. It is only when a deafening _crash_ breaks through the silence that she jumps in her seat, her eyes widening when she sees what she has missed. Dostoevsky's chain has somehow broken clear of the peg in the floor, and the man has plunged upon Thompson, overturning the metal table in the process. Her partner's face is turning red, the mark holding the chain firmly against his throat.

Rushing to the door, Sarah fumbles with her keys, wasting precious moments when she tries the wrong one first. Finally, she flings the door open with a forceful _bang_ and draws her gun.

"Let him go," she says through clenched teeth, squaring herself off against the muscular man. When he simply smirks and tightens the chain around her partner's rapidly reddening neck, she purses her lips and fires a shot into the wall directly behind his head.

Luckily, it's enough to startle him. Sarah lunges across the room, kicking the man squarely across the face before withdrawing her handcuffs and placing them roughly around his wrists. "Sit down," she snaps. Kicking his legs out from under him, she pushes him into a chair, where she quickly binds his feet with the fallen chain.

On the floor nearby, Thompson is leaning against the wall, coughing and massaging his throat. "Where the hell were you, Williams?" he demands, his voice slightly hoarse.

"I'm sorry," Sarah replies, unable to help the guilty flush which colors her cheeks. "I got in here as quickly as I could." Even as she says it, she knows it's a lie. If she hadn't been so busy thinking about Chuck, she would have gotten into the room much sooner and maybe Thompson wouldn't be lying on the floor, a red mark burned into his neck.

So when he responds by shaking his head in disgust, a knowing look in his eyes, she knows she has no room to argue. And when Beckman demands that she report to Langley the next day, she simply accepts the order and packs her bags. After all, it isn't the first time this year that she's let herself slip. And even though she's not ready to admit it _(and may never be)_, she left her work ethic behind in Burbank – the same place she'd left her heart.

~*~

**One year ago . . .**

_The long, loud sound of a car horn wrenched Sarah back to the present, causing her to blink her eyes rapidly as the increasingly familiar prickling built within her chest. And even though the feeling was becoming more familiar, she still couldn't quite place it. It was nothing she had ever felt before; or at least, nothing she had felt any time in the recent past. It only emerged when she thought about her options; it only emerged when she thought about Chuck._

_But Chuck was no longer her asset, and she had orders to follow._

_Her chest twisted painfully as the notion flitted through her mind, but she ignored the sensation. Just as she ignored the powerful thought that Chuck Bartowski was so much more than an asset._

_Letting out a shaky breath, she forced the uncomfortable prickling to subside, a hardened layer slipping over her eyes in the process. Then, pushing away from the window sill, she went to sit at her desk, pulling a sheet of paper and a pen from the drawer._

_But when she tried to write, her hand hovered stationary for the better part of a minute, her mind a million miles away. Sighing heavily, she straightened her shoulders in resolve and forced her pen to the paper._

Dear Chuck,

_She began, and then nothing else emerged. Instinctively, a pair of brown eyes flickered through her mind, causing her heart to skip and the prickling to return. But again, she forced the feeling aside, her eyes hardening once more. She couldn't do this. She couldn't allow herself to succumb. She had made a choice a long time ago – a choice to put her country first, no matter the cost._

_And besides that . . . _

_But no. Shaking her head, she pushed the newest thought aside before it could fully form. Placing the pen back onto the paper, words scrawled along the sheet almost as if they were coming from someplace else. And as she wrote, she did her best to ignore the thin sheen of tears clouding her eyes. Unfortunately, it was much harder to ignore her dwindling desire to stay in the CIA and her overwhelming wish to remain in Burbank. But then, she had always been good at denying her own feelings._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Again, thank you all for your wonderful reviews. Not only do they give me the inspiration to write, they mean a lot. And while I know that the angst is so thick you can cut it with a knife, let me assure you that the story does eventually become much fluffier. Just hang on for a little bit longer. ;-) Also, I apologize in advance for any inaccuracies in my depiction of London. I'm basing my knowledge off of some brief research and three consecutive visits a little less than four years ago.

**Disclaimer: **If they were mine, this show would so be on HBO.

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

The late sun slowly dips beneath the horizon, glinting off the Thames River as the London lamp posts gradually flicker on. Sitting opposite his date in a small booth, Chuck tries to ignore the overly flirtatious ramblings of his business partner, sitting directly beside him. Unfortunately, when Josh leans across the table and runs his finger provocatively over his giggling date's cleavage (supposedly, she's dribbled a bit of soy sauce onto her chest), it becomes almost impossible to overlook.

Biting back the impulse to tell his uncouth partner to get a room, Chuck turns instead to Nicole. Her shoulder length blonde hair frames her face in waves, and his heart skips a beat as he tries not to think about another blonde – a blonde who's been worming herself into his thoughts for the better part of the night.

_Why did you leave me, Sarah?_

His shoulders tightening, Chuck takes a deep breath and pushes the thought from his mind. "So, Nicole," he says uneasily, shifting so that he can no longer see Josh's antics, "What do you do in London?" He leans forward on his elbows, attempting to focus all thoughts on the woman sitting across from him.

Clearly thankful to have an excuse to ignore their friends, Nicole smiles pleasantly, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulders. When it gleams slightly in the lamplight, Chuck again forces unwanted thoughts aside. "I'm a secretary for the Mabey Group," she says.

"That's great," Chuck replies, and even he can hear his words fall flat. Clearing his throat irritatedly as Josh begins a game of footsy with his date, he forces some enthusiasm into his tone. "Do you like it there?"

"Not really," Nicole states, a hint of humor twinkling within her blue eyes. And despite his earlier resolve, Chuck reflects for a moment on how Sarah's blue eyes are slightly brighter and just a little bit rounder. But then he frustratedly pushes the rumination from his mind just as Nicole leans forward with a conspiratorial wink. "My boss is a bit of a duffer," she confesses.

Chuck chokes as he takes a sip of wine. "That doesn't sound good," he says, chuckling lightly.

"Trust me," she grins, "It's not. But I intend to return to university to become a nurse."

"Hey, that's great," Chuck replies, his tone genuinely enthusiastic now. A twinge of relief floods his lanky frame as he relaxes into the conversation. "I bet you'd make a great nurse."

"It's certainly better than bringing the duffer coffee all day," Nicole agrees, smirking. "What about you, Chuck?" she asks, scooting slightly to the right when Josh accidentally brushes her ankle with his foot. "What do you plan to do with your life?"

Chuck laughs nervously, blushing slightly and casting Josh a disgruntled look when his friend's foot accidentally brushes his own ankle. "Well, aside from selling the video game," he says, also shifting a little to the side, "I'm not really . . . sure . . ." He trails off when his eyes land on a red brick building framed on the edge of the water, its bright lights flickering across the liquid abyss. And as his eyes scan the strong black lettering which edges the building, his heart freezes in his chest: "PARK PLAZA RIVERBANK". _Park Plaza Riverbank, 714. _The whisper emerges from almost twenty-four hours before, his ear tickling perceptibly as he remembers the feel of Sarah's breath against his skin. Unbidden, his eyes glaze over and his thoughts finally take over.

~*~

**One year ago . . . **

_The early morning sun shined through his window, illuminating dust motes and casting shadows along the wall. Blinking sluggishly, Chuck rolled onto his side, his eyes slowly opening to the mellow light. Immediately, his last conversation with Sarah played through his mind, sharp and distinct in his sleepy haze._

"I think the relevant question," Chuck said, swallowing hard before continuing, "Is what are you going to do with _your_ life, Agent Walker?"

_The words sprang forth, causing his heart to sink as cold fingers of anxiety trickled through his chest. _What _did_ Sarah plan to do with her life? And whatever those plans were, did they include him? _For the past three years, all he'd ever wanted was a life with Sarah Walker. He didn't know what he'd do if he was forced to live without her._

_Lost in his ruminations, he almost missed the sheet of paper lying haphazardly against his alarm clock. When his eyes finally fell upon it, his entire body tensed. Scrawled across the note was his name in her writing, a little messy as if written in a hurry. Gulping nervously, he reached out with a shaky hand to pluck it from his nightstand._

_And when he read what was written, he felt as if he'd been plunged into a bath of ice cold water._

By the time you read this, I will be gone.

_Gone. _

_Gone. _

_By the time you read this, I will be gone. _

_Sarah had left him, and all she had written was a single paragraph, enclosed within a thin sheet of paper._

_Blinking rapidly, a lump formed in Chuck's throat as his entire world seemed to shift. And as he read the note again . . . and again . . . and again, he was consumed with the overwhelming desire to find Sarah and simply hold her in his arms and never let her go._

_The problem was, he had no idea how to begin. And even if he did, he had no idea if she'd even want to be found._

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Chuck blinks hard, coming back to the present with a jolt. On the other side of the table, Nicole is staring at him in concern. "Is everything okay, Chuck?" she asks, placing a hand on his arm.

Chuck's eyes dart to her hand, then quickly return to her face. "Oh, uh," he says, trying to regain his footing as his mind reels from the memory, "I'm sorry, it's been a long day."

But even with the muttered apology and the jolt back to reality, and even though he knows the woman across from him deserves better, his thoughts are marching a discordant rhythm within his head. And along with them comes a more recent memory:

"_I can't do this anymore, Sarah . . . I need you to leave . . ."_

Joined with that memory is the memory of the stricken look on Sarah's face – the look he had pretended he had not seen. The look that she had quickly hidden when it became clear that he wasn't going to change his mind, but which now resonated through his core and pierced him to the quick.

_Park Plaza Riverbank, 714._ Her words echo through his thoughts once more, so fresh within his mind that he can still feel her presence by his side.

_What the hell was wrong with him? _After a year of heartache over Sarah's absence, over her supposed abandonment of him and the life they could never share, she had returned. And in the space of an evening, he had chased her away.

Suddenly, Chuck jumps to his feet, fumbling for his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. For someone who had graduated from Stanford _(well, sort of)_, he could be a real idiot sometimes. "I'm really sorry, Nicole," he says, "but I have somewhere I have to go."

"Buddy?" Josh's eyes widen in dismay. "What's going on?"

"I'll meet you back at the hotel," Chuck states impatiently, flinging £40 onto the table. "This should cover our portion," he says, glancing apologetically at his date. But she doesn't have a chance to respond, because the second the bills hit the table, Chuck turns on his heel and dashes from the restaurant, almost tripping over his converses in the process. Tumbling into the hostess stand, his knee collides with a resounding _bang_, and he just barely hears Josh laughing anxiously and asking: "So, how would you ladies feel about a Ménage à trois?"

While he's pretty sure he sees a shocked Nicole throw a glassful of water at his brazen fraternity brother, he's too busy pushing out of the restaurant to notice. In fact, his mind is too focused to even allow a smirk at Josh's misfortune. Every muscle, every fiber of his body aches to get across the water and onto the seventh floor of that hotel.

His shoes beat a frantic rhythm across the cobblestoned street, his arms breaking into goosebumps as the chill London air blows across his skin. Zipping up his jacket with a shaky hand, he ignores the startled looks of passersby and increases his pace, the wind blowing his curls into disarray. His lungs feel as if they're going to burst, his breath emerging in ragged gasps, but still he races across the bridge, his eyes fixed determinedly on the brick building ahead.

When he finally reaches the hotel, his face red from his exertions, he doesn't even stop to explain himself to the shocked bellman. It's only when he's finally made it to the seventh floor, his eyes feverishly scanning the room numbers until he finds 714, that he allows himself to slow down. But even then, his pulse hammers relentlessly through his veins as he stares at the door leading to the sought after room, cold fingers of tension prickling through his chest.

He's not sure how long he stands there, simply staring at the piece of wood separating him from the woman who holds the key to his future. Finally, he gulps loudly and raises a shaky fist to knock.

_Ten seconds pass . . . _

_Then twenty . . . _

_Then thirty . . ._

No one answers the door.

His chest twists anxiously, and he raises his fist to knock again. And then twice more. Still, no one answers the door. Just as his shoulders are slumping in defeat, the door belonging to the adjacent room, 712, swings open and a tanned man with sleek black hair peeks out. "Can I help you?" The man asks, and Chuck's eyes flicker over the light red marks which cover his throat. The marks which he acquired only a few short hours before, when Sarah allowed herself to think about Chuck and let down her guard.

"I'm looking for Sarah Walker," Chuck says hesitantly, regarding the man through anxious eyes. He has no way of knowing what happened earlier, no way of knowing that Sarah's been sent back to Langley.

"Sarah Walker, huh?" The man grunts, studying the computer nerd as a light seems to dawn in his eyes. And while Chuck doesn't know it, the man – Agent Thompson – is remembering a conversation he'd shared with Beckman when he'd first received this assignment. A conversation in which he'd been warned that Sarah had a habit of falling for her male partners – the most recent being an analyst with curly brown hair. "Who's asking?" Thompson asks, arching a brow.

"Chuck Bartowski," Chuck replies, raising a trembling hand to shake.

"Chuck Bartowski," Thompson repeats, snorting softly as he grasps Chuck's hand. "I should have known." He holds Chuck's stare for a long moment, obviously weighing the situation. Finally, his expression turns apologetic. "She's gone, man. I'm sorry."

Chuck's shoulders tighten. "Gone?" he repeats blankly, hoping that he's misunderstood. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that she's gone and she's not coming back," the agent clarifies, shrugging noncommittally.

Chuck's heart plunges into his stomach. "Do you . . . do you know where she went?" he stammers. He's suddenly having trouble breathing, and a thin layer of sweat is forming upon his palms.

"Come on, buddy," the man cajoles, a hardened edge joining the sympathy on his face. "You know that I can't answer that question."

A pang reverberates through Chuck's chest, the despair growing in his eyes. "Please," he pleads, his voice piquing as he sheds all pretense. "I need to find her. She's . . . Is there any way you can tell me where she is? Even just a hint. Even just an acronym." When Thompson's face hardens further, his tone becomes even more desperate. "Even just the first letter of the name."

But: "I can't," Thompson states firmly, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

Chuck closes his eyes, a sense of defeat welling within his gut. Finally, he tries one last ditch effort. "Can you at least get a message to her?" he questions urgently.

"I'm sorry," Thompson repeats immovably, "I wouldn't even know how to reach her."

Chuck stares at the agent for a long moment, willing him to become more cooperative. But when Thompson's expression remains impassive, Chuck sighs heavily and visibly deflates. "I understand," he says hollowly, slumping against the wall. He briefly considers trying again, explaining to this man that his whole future hinges on finding Sarah Walker, but the look on the guy's face tells him that he wouldn't get very far. If anything, he'd simply get himself thrown out of the hotel. So he simply nods, watching the agent head into his room and close the door behind him.

And because he has no other options, and because it's clear that there's nothing left for him at the Park Plaza Riverbank, he turns slowly around and heads for the elevator. When he steps out into the night, the frigid air assaults his face and turns his lips numb. But he doesn't really notice. For the second time in as many days, he's let Sarah Walker slip through his fingers.


	5. Chapter 5

**One year ago . . .**

_The cool night air blew through the courtyard, ruffling bushes and sending leaves skittering along the pavement. Pulling her jacket more tightly around her slender figure, Sarah walked quietly along the side of the condominium, an emptiness building within her core. And even though a desperate internal voice was telling her to stop, to go back to her hotel room and pretend like she had never come to Chuck Bartowski's condo, she forced herself to continue walking. This was something she had to do, even if it was the last thing she wanted._

_Slipping quietly through Chuck's bedroom window, she paused for a moment when her eyes landed on the man who had been the center of her universe for almost three years. Sleeping soundly, the familiar innocence on his face was heightened in his unconscious state. A sharp pain pierced her chest, and she closed her eyes and reached an unsteady hand into her purse. When she extracted it a moment later, a sheet of paper was clasped firmly in her fingertips._

_Stepping to Chuck's bed, she laid the note upon his nightstand, angled against his alarm clock so that he couldn't miss it when he woke up. A guilty flush colored her cheeks, seeping into her heart, and she drew in a shaky breath. She had to continue. But just before she turned to leave, she leaned over her ex-asset and brushed an errant curl back from his forehead. "Good-bye, Chuck," she whispered hoarsely._

_When she reluctantly exited through his window a moment later, Chuck whimpered and shifted restlessly in his sleep._

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Suitcase at her feet and hand wrapped around a steaming cup of vanilla latte, Sarah sips the sweet liquid as the late evening travelers pass quickly by her table at Heathrow Airport. Her tightened muscles ache from lack of sleep, her mind still focused on the incident from earlier that day. She still can't believe she let her emotions get the better of her, that she allowed her thoughts to wander while her partner got hurt. Pursing her lips and creasing her brow, she almost doesn't notice the muscular figure walk up to her side.

"A little late to be leaving, isn't it?" Casey asks, clearing his throat as he takes a seat at her table.

Taking a sip of coffee, she turns to him with cocked head. "Wow, Casey," she drawls, "What are you doing in London?"

"Good news travels fast," he says evenly. "Plus, I was in Paris, so Uncle Sam figured I was close enough to be a good interrogator. You know, minus the choking."

Sarah's shoulders tighten, her lips thinning. "We can only hope," she replies, glaring straight ahead.

If he hears her, he doesn't give any indication. Instead, he turns to her with a steady gaze. "What are you doing, Walker?" he asks, and she immediately notices the use of her last cover name.

"It's Williams now," she says automatically, "and I'm waiting for my plane to Langley. Beckman instructed me to report."

"That's not what I meant," Casey returns sharply. "What I meant was: why are you still running?"

His words cause her heart to skip, but she forces her expression to remain blank. Impassive. "I don't know what you're talking about, Casey," she says, and Chuck's face immediately flits through her mind. Her muscles tensing, she forces the image away.

"Right," Casey replies shortly, redirecting his gaze to the passersby. They sit in silence for several moments before he finally speaks. "A couple years ago you asked me if I ever wanted a normal life. Children. A family."

Sarah's brow arches in response. "How do you remember that?"

"It pissed me off," he says simply, shrugging. "Anyway, the answer is still 'no.' That garbage is for the suckers who actually believe in that stuff."

"Is there a purpose to this discussion, Casey?" Sarah asks, inadvertently tapping her foot as she glances at the electronic departure schedule.

"My point," Casey grunts, "is that you're one of the suckers, Walker."

"Thanks," she says drily, but her chest prickles uncomfortably at the statement. In an attempt to hide her discomfort, she continues quickly with: "And it's still Williams."

"No, it's not," Casey returns. "It's been Walker since the day you met Bartowski."

Sighing heavily, she turns to him once more. "What do you mean?" she asks steadily, unable to believe that John Casey is giving her romantic advice.

"Figure it out," Casey replies, smirking. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a suspect to torture." And with that, he pushes himself to his feet and grabs his bags.

"Casey," Sarah stops him just before he walks away. "What were you doing in Paris?"

He blinks in response, his expression carefully neutral. "Top secret," he grunts, but a shadow of his earlier smirk returns. "Besides, gentlemen don't kiss and tell."

Before she can say anything else, he heads toward the exit, leaving her to stare after him with raised brows. Their conversation is still playing through her mind when she boards her plane forty-five minutes later. And as she stares out the window at the lazily drifting clouds of white mist, she can't help but reflect on the last time she'd been on an airplane.

**One year ago . . .**

_Sarah stared blankly outside the thick plastic window, the roar of the airplane engine overshadowed by the thoughts running rampant through her mind. Despite the knowledge that she should be focusing on her final report for Team Bartowski, or even reading through the mission dossier enclosed within her briefcase, she couldn't stop her mind from continuously drifting back to Burbank and the letter she had left on Chuck's nightstand. A pang pierced her chest as she imagined the look on his face when he read the note – probably the same look he had given her when she had refused to answer his question about their future._

_For a moment, she felt an intense desire to forget her orders and return to Burbank on the next flight. To tell General Beckman that she had changed her mind, that she was quitting the CIA, and that there was nothing the General could do about it._

_But as her brow furrowed in consternation and her pulse accelerated, she felt a familiar resolve building within her gut. A resolve which pushed aside the fleeting desire to disobey orders, and told her that she had made this choice for a reason. She had purposefully chosen to remain in the CIA, she had purposefully chosen to serve her country and leave Chuck behind. He was no longer her asset, she was no longer his handler, and it was time to move on._

_But even as the resolve built in her gut, an emptiness resonated within her chest which nearly overpowered her determination. Because even if she couldn't bring herself to admit it – even though she might never be able to admit it – Chuck Bartowski was so much more than an asset and her life as a spy couldn't compare to a life spent with Chuck._

_But she quickly pushed this thought away, concealing it deep within the recesses of her mind. And ignoring the empty ache, she reached for her mission dossier, attempting to immerse herself in her work._

**Present Day . . .**

Coming back to the present with a start, Sarah's brow furrows as Casey's words dart quickly through her mind: _Why are you still running?_ After a year apart, the muscular assassin had sat at her table, a knowing look in his eyes, and flat-out asked her what she was afraid of. And perhaps because the advice was so un-Casey-like, or maybe because it was exactly what she needed to hear, she can't seem to shake the conversation from her head.

Even so, as she reflects on her conversation with her ex-partner, the words repeating incessently within her mind, one impulsive, overpowering thought overcomes everything else. Sitting forward in her seat, her gaze burning through the thick plastic window, she suddenly wonders: _What _is _it that she's running from?_

~*~

Twelve hours after Sarah's departure, a pale, despondent Chuck Bartowski enters Heathrow airport, dragging his suitcase behind him and trying desperately to ignore the heated diatribe of his business partner. "It's not that I ask for much," Josh is saying, and Chuck wonders where the hell he found so much energy at nine in the morning, "Just that you act as my Wing Man every once in a while."

"Uh huh," Chuck mumbles, stepping up to the ticket counter. "Chuck Bartowski, flight 247," he intones flatly, passing his Driver's License to the agent.

Unfortunately, Josh doesn't seem to have gotten the hint. "I mean, really," he says, leaning his elbow on the counter and staring intently at Chuck, "What was so important, anyway?"

Sighing heavily, Chuck accepts his ticket and places his suitcase on the scale. "I don't want to talk about it," he says evenly, his chest twisting as he thinks back to the night before.

Still, Josh continues. Slipping his own identification to the attendant, he turns to Chuck with a sulky glint in his eye. "I mean, dude," he whines, placing his own bag on the scale, "I had her there. She was totally hot for me. And then you bailed."

Chuck grits his teeth, the lack of sleep and heartache finally catching up to him. "Look, Josh," he snaps, irritably adjusting the strap of his carry-on bag, "I'm sorry that I didn't stay. But I had something that I had to take care of."

"Something more important than getting laid?" Josh returns, and several passersby turn to stare at the pair.

"You know what, Josh?" Chuck bites back, "There are more important things in life than women and getting laid. Some of us actually want to focus on our futures. I know, it's a bit of a shock, but it's something you're gonna have to learn to live with."

And with that, Chuck stomps over to a vacant chair, leaving Josh gaping at his back. And even though he knows he might have gone too far, and even though he feels a little guilty about being so snappish, he really can't bring himself to care. The night before is still too fresh, the pain of losing Sarah again still runs too deep. Leaning back heavily into his seat, a lump rises into his throat. Instinctively, his hand drifts to the front pocket of his leather bag, shaky fingers going automatically to the zipper to reveal a faded, creased sheet of paper. Biting his lip, he slowly extracts and then unfolds the note.

_Dear Chuck,_

It reads, and his stomach tightens in anticipation of what comes next.

_By the time you read this, I'll be gone. I'm sorry for leaving with nothing more than a note, but I thought it would be best. _

_Chuck, the last two years have been two of the best I've ever had, but I have orders to follow. Please know that I will never forget you, Chuck Bartowski. And be happy. You really can have anything that you want._

_Yours, Sarah_

Chuck's eyes turn glassy as he reads the letter a second time, and then a third. Finally, his gaze settles on her very last sentence: _You really can have anything that you want._

_Anything except Sarah, that is_, comes the sudden thought as a sharp pain slices through his chest.

When Chuck's plane arrives three hours later, the letter is still clutched firmly in his fist and a hollow ache has filled his lanky frame. Taking a seat by the window next to an oblivious Josh, he stares out the thick plastic pane as the last place he saw Sarah Walker quickly disappears before his eyes. Unbidden, his mind drifts back to the last time he lost her.

**One year ago . . .**

_Staring blankly at Ellie, Chuck barely processed her suggestion that he forget Sarah and start working on a video game. The very thought caused a lump to rise into his throat. "Maybe," he said after a moment, and Ellie sighed when he returned to staring at the ceiling._

"_Think about it," she urged, patting his shoulder before standing to leave. Just before she reached the door, she returned her sympathetic gaze to her brother. "You deserve a life, Chuck," she said softly. "But you have to get out of bed first." And with that, she stepped out of his room, closing his door behind her._

_Sighing deeply, Ellie's words circled within his mind. _

A life. He deserved a life. A life. He deserved a life.

_Deep down, he knew she was right. After everything he'd been through over the past ten years, not to mention the last six months, the thought of having a life sounded good. Great, even. The problem was, his heart hurt when he imagined that life without Sarah Walker. _

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

Finally back in Burbank (and after a half-hearted apology to Josh), Chuck shuffles slowly through the courtyard, his converses slapping lazily against the pavement as his suitcase bumps along behind. Rubbing tiredly at his eyes, his thoughts drift back to London and the woman he left behind – the woman he had chased away after a year of wanting nothing more than to hold her in his arms. Sighing dejectedly, he almost doesn't notice the figure sitting on the edge of the fountain. But then he stops in his tracks, his heart freezing in his chest as his eyes fly wide.

Directly in front of him, her hands clasped nervously on her lap, her bags by her side, is none other than Sarah Walker.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews, everyone! They seriously mean a lot, and I'm so glad you're all enjoying the story. I know it's been just _a little_ on the angsty side, so get ready to enjoy some fluff. Just one note of warning: it's a little more mature. *scampers off*

~*~

**Eight hours earlier . . .**

_Waiting anxiously for General Beckman to enter the office, Sarah's boots beat a path into the well-worn carpet of the tiny room, her hands clenched tightly at her side. Along with the conversation with Casey, the encounter with Chuck weighed heavily on her mind. And even though it ended badly, and despite the fact that she really had no idea how he'd react to her now, she knew that she was doing the right thing. Because after a year without Chuck and six hours in the air reflecting on her decisions, she'd finally reached some conclusions. Conclusions which she hadn't been ready to make before now._

_When her plane had taken off from Heathrow, a dull, empty pain had filled her chest. And in that moment, she had realized something. She hadn't left Chuck because she didn't think it could work, or because she wanted to put the CIA first. She hadn't left Chuck because he had been nothing more than an asset, or because it was the professional thing to do. The reason she had left Chuck – the _only_ reason – was because she had been afraid. After everything she'd been through – watching her mother walk out on her, growing up with a deadbeat dad, losing her first real lover and partner, even losing Chuck to the Intersect for a short time – she had been afraid to let someone else in. She had been terrified that if she'd taken that step, if she'd let Chuck into her life, then she would have to deal with the pain of loss all over again. And she had decided, deep down inside, to cut off all emotions so that she could forego that pain altogether._

_Now, as she paced restlessly in the tiny room at Langley Air Force Base, she realized that Chuck was worth all that and more. Not having Chuck in her life was far worse than living with the fear that she might someday lose him. Because not having Chuck in her life meant that she wasn't really living at all._

_So when Beckman finally entered the room and listened to Sarah with a stern, disappointed expression, she held her ground. And when the General asked her if she was seriously resigning, Sarah did the only thing she could. She looked her superior square in the eyes and nodded. "Yes," she stated firmly, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm turning in my resignation effective immediately."_

_Beckman looked like she wanted to argue, and might have done so if she hadn't seen the determined look in her Agent's eyes. She gazed hard at Sarah for several moments before finally pursing her lips and nodding curtly. "Very well, Ms. Williams," she said. "You may begin your new life as a civilian immediately. Turn in your weapons and identification ASAP."_

_And before Sarah could say anything more, the General marched from the room._

~*~

**Present Day . . .**

The warm southern California breeze blows lightly through the courtyard, accompanied by the sounds of many chirping crickets and the rushing water flowing through the fountain. It's the quintessential southern California autumn night, full of fragrant smells and pleasant sounds. But Chuck is oblivious to all of this. At the moment, the only thing Chuck truly sees is the woman sitting on the fountain bench, hands clasped nervously on her lap, countless emotions peeking through the half-guarded expression dominating her face.

"Sarah," he murmurs, taking a step forward as his breath catches in his throat. After over a day of thinking that he'd lost her, of living with the knowledge that he'd allowed her to slip through his fingers yet again, she's sitting directly in front of him, her heart in her eyes. "What are . . ." The question dies on his lips before it can be fully formed, his mind freezing instead on the chance he thought he'd lost. "I tried to find you," he stammers. "I went to the hotel, but you were already gone."

Sarah's eyes widen at the revelation, her heart skipping hopefully. "I – had some things I had to take care of," she says carefully, her gaze darting to Chuck's and then settling on a spot just over his left shoulder.

"Things?" Chuck asks cautiously, unable to keep a hint of optimism from ringing through his tone. "Like what?"

Taking a deep breath, Sarah weighs her words carefully before continuing. "Like talking to Beckman," she replies, her muscles rippling with apprehension. "Like trying to figure this out."

The look on Sarah's face causes Chuck's pulse to accelerate, and he takes an inadvertent step in her direction. "Figure what out?" he prods, unable to believe what his mind is telling him might be real. Is Sarah really in Burbank, telling him that after all this time, she's 'figured things out'?

She stares at him steadily, cold tendrils of anxiety prickling through her chest. At no time in her life has the instinct to run been so strong, but she forces herself to remain seated. She's spent a year running, and it's time to finally face things head on. "You asked me once what I planned to do with my life," she says determinedly, her eyes shining with heightened emotion. "I've finally decided."

"What did you decide?" Chuck asks, swallowing hard as his stomach knots in anticipation.

Her gaze slowly slides across his face to lock on his intense brown eyes. "I've decided to quit the CIA. I . . . want my life to be with you, Chuck." She breathes in deeply, then: "If you'll still have me, that is."

Chuck's jaw drops, his entire body overflowing with sensation, causing his skin to prickle and keeping his feet frozen to the pavement.

_Ten seconds pass . . . _

_Then twenty . . . _

_Then thirty . . ._

Sarah's gaze flickers to her hands, the guarded expression returning to her face. Finally, just when she's decided to murmur an excuse and flee the scene, Chuck's delayed reaction kicks into overdrive. Dropping his leather bag, he takes two long strides across the courtyard, then clasps her arms with shaking hands and pulls her upward. And before she knows what's happening, he's crushing his lips to hers, causing a powerful shiver to race down her spine.

He kisses her once, twice, three times in quick succession before finally falling into a desperate, heated rhythm, his heart hammering relentlessly in his chest. Running his hands along her arms, up her back, into her hair, he feels every surface of her body just to make sure that she's real. Just to make sure that this is really Sarah Walker standing before him, offering him her heart.

When he breaks the kiss and leans against her forehead, he has to take a moment to catch his breath. "Really?" he demands, a look of awe settling within his gaze. "You're really staying?"

She smiles softly, lacing her fingers through his curls. "Really," she murmurs, looking deeply into his eyes. A gradual grin lights up his face, sending an intense warmth spreading through her chest. Returning the gesture, she leans forward and captures his mouth, grinning against his lips. And when he scoops her into his grasp, her legs dangling over his lanky arms, her eyes only widen for a moment before she's kissing him again. Together, they stagger into the house, their bags forgotten in the courtyard.

But as they move over the threshold, Sarah's arms wrapped around his neck, Chuck's converses grow two sizes too big. A gasp of surprise emanates from Sarah's throat as Chuck trips over his shoelaces, stumbling against an end table and almost dropping her in the process. A vase of flowers crashes to the floor, water seeping out of the jug to create a puddle near their feet.

"Oops," Chuck says, staring in consternation at the mess as he allows Sarah to slip from his arms and stand on her feet. "I guess I need to brush up on my balancing skills."

Snickering and massaging her bruised elbow, she looks at the overturned vase. "Or stock up on flowers," she returns, smirking.

"Yeah," Chuck replies, blushing. "Maybe I should clean up the mess . . ."

Glancing at the man who had been kissing her passionately only a short minute before, Sarah feels a twinge of remorse when she notices that he's suddenly looking a lot less sure of himself. And along with that remorse is a jolt of longing when she studies his lower lip, currently held captive by his teeth. Swallowing back the laughter, a hint of hungry affection flickers through her eyes before her expression turns suddenly coy. "Chuck?" she murmurs throatily, advancing on him as a predator advances on its prey.

"Yes?" he queries, his breath hitching when she comes back within his personal space.

"The mess can wait." And before Chuck has a chance to reply, her lips are crashing against his own, her nimble fingers exploring his body as she pushes him toward his room.

The world slips away, their rift blissfully forgotten as they quickly shed their clothing, falling together onto Chuck's waiting bed. And when Chuck runs his rough, steady fingers along her pert breasts and down her taut stomach . . . and Sarah groans as she brushes her mouth along the sensitive skin of his neck, his rapid pulse beating deliciously beneath her lips . . . and he pushes deep inside of her, their sweat-slicked hips moving together in perfect synchronicity as their desperate, heated moans fill the room . . . and the fire builds within their groins, electricity racing along their skin as the pressure coalesces within their bellies . . . and Sarah's legs wrap tightly around Chuck's glistening back so that she can push him even deeper inside . . . and their bodies spasm in blissful pleasure as they reach a frenzied, heated crescendo . . . both let go of the tumultuous past and look forward to a brilliant future, full of unspoken promises and no regrets.

When their breathing finally returns to normal, Chuck having collapsed into Sarah's sated arms, the computer nerd rolls onto his side, causing the ex-spy to groan at the loss of contact. Quickly following his movements, her body brushes tantalizingly against his as she repositions herself so that she's gazing at the man who has changed her world.

The same coffee brown eyes which have haunted her for over a year are looking back at her, a profoundly tender warmth reflected in their depths. Her pulse accelerates at the sight, a jolt of electricity coursing down her spine. "Hey," she says, an affectionate smile spreading across her lips.

"Hey," he whispers, his finger tracing the side of her face and tucking a stray hair behind her ear. When she leans into his touch, he bites his lower lip and a serious depth enters his eyes. "I love you, Sarah," he murmurs, and her lips part as the words caress her ears and cause her heart to stop. "I've never stopped loving you."

Swallowing nervously, her stomach knots as icy prickles traverse the surface of her skin. Suddenly, she's overcome by an overwhelming desire to hide behind her cool façade, so natural and familiar in this dance they've played for the last three years. Her deliberate disguise, the instinctual shield she's learned to wield whenever things become too intense and her true feelings threaten to pierce her fortified wall. Before she can stop it, the mask begins to slip back onto her features, hiding her emotions, hiding her fear. Hiding her from the unknown variable that is Chuck Bartowski, lying completely vulnerable by her side.

_Chuck Bartowski._

His name reverberates within her mind, rocking her defenses as she suddenly registers the loving gleam of his gaze and notices the hope on his face, etched deep within the smile playing along his lips.

_Chuck Bartowski. _

_This is Chuck_, she thinks. _Innocent, charming, loving Chuck Bartowski_. The man who had penetrated her world and pierced her defenses in a way that no one else had ever been capable of doing. The man who had continued to want her, who had continued to love her, despite learning so many of the terrible things she had done in her past. The man who had been her one constant over the last three years, unwavering in his affection, unyielding in his devotion, no matter how many times she had tried to push him away.

Abruptly, an overpowering compassion washes through her chest, a deep warmth which melts away the icy prickles traversing her skin and causes the knot in her stomach to begin to slowly unravel. And in that moment, she comes to a decision. After a year of hiding from Chuck, after a year of hiding from everything she's ever wanted, there's no way she's going to hide now.

Taking a deep breath, she gazes deeply into his eyes as her finger traces the rough skin of his jaw. "I love you, too, Chuck," she says quietly, reveling in the grin which lights up his face. "I have for a long time." Leaning forward, she brushes her lips against his mouth, shivering slightly when he deepens the kiss. And when they finally pull apart, the look in his eyes takes her breath away.

_Don't freak out._

Perhaps because he senses the overwhelming intensity of the situation, or maybe because he knows how much Sarah has overcome to be lying here in his arms, Chuck reverts back to his usual witty self, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "So," he says, emboldened by his recent acquisition of Sarah's heart, "About this newfound talent for stripping . . ."

Surprised laughter bubbles from her throat, rippling over her slender frame. "What about it, Mr. Bartowski?" she teases.

"Well," he says, an abrupt blush coloring his cheeks, "I was wondering if I could get a private show?"

"Mmm," Sarah purrs, and Chuck goes slightly cross-eyed as she moves toward his mouth. "Play your cards right." Slipping her fingers behind his head, she pulls him toward her for another heated kiss. And together, they fall back into a feverish, instinctual rhythm as the world slips away once more.

When they finally fall asleep several hours later, early morning sunlight streaming through the bedroom window, a soft smile warms Chuck's face as Sarah sleeps contentedly in his arms.


	7. Epilogue

**Dedication: **This chapter, the final in this fic, is dedicated to all of my awesome readers who stuck with me through this crazy journey. It's been a blast sharing this with you, and I wholeheartedly appreciate your support.

**A/N: **If you'd like to read the next story in the "Full Circle" series, please check out "To Have and to Hold."

**Disclaimer: **If I owned "Chuck," Chuck and Sarah would spend far too much time wrapped up in each other and far less time going on missions. Needless to say, I don't own "Chuck".

~*~

**Full Circle (adv****.):** Returning to the original place, source, or state after passing through a cycle of developments.

**Six Months Later . . .**

The late afternoon sun slowly dips below the horizon, its golden rays reflecting off the surface of the rippling sea. An hour earlier, Sarah had returned from Ellie's to find Chuck dressed in khaki shorts and a windbreaker, a mysterious twinkle in his eyes and the car keys in his hand. And even though she had tried to force him to reveal his secret plans, he had proven unrelentless. Now, as the pair walk hand-in-hand along the shore, they recount the day's events as their bare feet push distinct patterns into the soft, wet sand and Sarah tries not to worm the information out of her boyfriend.

"Casey sent us a postcard," Chuck says, enjoying the feel of the water as it washes over his toes.

"Really?" the new Burbank detective replies, her interest piqued. "He actually signed his name?"

"Not exactly," Chuck admits, biting back a grin.

"Well, then how do you know that Casey sent it?" Sarah asks as a particularly high wave washes over her ankles and soaks the bottoms of her jeans. Instinctively, she tightens her grip in Chuck's hand and moves slightly closer to him, causing the computer nerd's skin to break out into goosebumps.

"Because it came from Paris, and on the back it had just one word," he says, caressing the back of her hand with his thumb.

"Which was?" she prods, arching a brow.

Chuck's mouth twitches. "SUCKERS," he replies, his tone ringed with amusement.

"Figures," Sarah says, chuckling softly. The two walk on in silence for several more moments, their intertwined fingers warming their hands as the cool ocean continues its rhythmic beat against the shore. Finally, Sarah glances at Chuck and asks in a persuasively lilting tone: "Not even a hint?"

In response, Chuck places thumb and forefinger to his lips, smiling slyly as he makes an exaggerated zipping motion. And even though Sarah notices that his skin is just a little bit paler than usual, and his palms are just a little bit clammier, she lets the information slide with an embellished huff.

Smiling good-naturedly to let him know that he's off the hook (for now), she quickly changes the subject. "So," she says, "how was it at Morgan's?"

"Fine," Chuck replies. "Actually, I think Anna has finally put the proverbial kibosh on his exploits with the Benihana knives. I guess she's sick of the frequent trips to the emergency room."

Snorting softly, Sarah brushes lightly against his arm. "Wasn't it nine times this month alone?" she asks, a humorous glint in her eyes. "That's gotta be expensive."

"Well, that," Chuck replies, smirking, "And I think she was afraid he might cut off an important appendange."

"Wouldn't want that," Sarah replies drily, rolling her eyes. She briefly considers asking about Josh, but quickly changes her mind. After over a year, the partnership had come to an end when Chuck's fraternity brother and business partner had decided to hightail it back to Europe. Apparently, he felt he'd have better luck scoring with women who didn't speak English as a first language. And while he wouldn't admit it, she had a feeling that Chuck was only too glad to sever ties.

"What about Ellie?" Chuck asks, breaking into her ruminations as the pair continue their steady gait up the beach. "How is my big sis? Are you two finally playing nicely?"

Chuckling, Sarah pushes against Chuck's shoulder, causing him to stagger a few steps toward the surf. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she replies flippantly, winking as he pretends astonishment. Even so, his statement causes her to think back to the first time she saw Ellie Woodcomb after her return from London. And along with the memory are the words Ellie spoke to her that day.

"_Don't hurt him again, Sarah," the brunette cautioned, her lips forming a firm line. "He's been through enough already."_

_Her declaration caused a twinge of remorse to echo soundly through Sarah's chest, and her shoulders stiffened with resolve. "I promise, Ellie," she said sincerely. "I'm not going anywhere this time."_

_Ellie studied her with quiet intensity, her hazel eyes burning into Sarah's earnest blue. Finally, a small smile had spread across her face. "He's missed you," she admitted. "And," she said after a beat, "So have I."_

Smiling at the recollection, Sarah squeezes Chuck's hand. "She's doing great," she finally answers. "It's really good to have another woman to spend time with. Although," she says, the memory still fresh within her mind, "I really think the CIA missed out when it didn't recruit your sister. She would have been a pro at interrogation."

"Just don't tell them that," Chuck returns, the hint of a smirk playing along the corner of his mouth. "I wouldn't want General Beckman to get any ideas."

"Duly noted," Sarah says, grinning. After the battery of tests the CIA had put her through a few days after separation to ensure that she absolutely was not a liability (she wasn't), she doesn't want General Beckman to get any ideas either. But she pushes that particular memory from her mind and, after a few more paces across the beach, she cocks her head. "Where _are_ we going?" she asks, the self-same determined expression wafting across her features.

In response, Chuck finally comes to a stop. "Don't you recognize it?" he replies, gesturing toward the softly rolling ocean as it washes over a sandy expanse of land.

Her brow furrowing, Sarah stares blankly out to sea. Finally, a knowing gleam enters her bright blue eyes. "It's where I found you the night after we discovered that you had downloaded the Intersect 1.0," she says slowly.

"It's also where you asked me to trust you for the very first time," Chuck replies, his heart rocketing in his chest. When Sarah turns to him with an affectionate smile, he gulps nervously and drops to his left knee, the ocean waves washing over his bare calves and her hand clutched gently in his grasp. With the other hand, he withdraws a velvet box from his jacket pocket.

"Chuck?" she breathes, her eyes widening.

"Sarah," he says, gazing at her lovingly, "You once told me that I could have anything that I wanted. The only thing I want," he continues, his eyes softening perceptibly, "is you. Sarah Walker, will you do me the honor of putting your trust in me and becoming my wife?" Opening the box, he reveals a white gold band inlaid with half a dozen tiny glittering diamonds.

Sarah presses her lips together, her eyes glistening as she studies the man kneeling before her. "C'mere," she says shakily, quirking her finger.

Chuck's forehead creases in confusion, but he comes to his feet, the box clasped tightly in his hand. As he does so, Sarah reaches her arms around his neck and brushes against his mouth, their lips moving together in a tender, passionate dance. "Yes," she finally says, when she breaks the kiss and looks deeply into his gleaming eyes. "Yes, Chuck. I'll marry you."

A dazzling grin spreads across Chuck's face and he pulls the ring from its box. "Perfect fit," he says, slipping it onto Sarah's eager finger.

"How did you know my ring size?" she asks, examining the ring contentedly.

"Hey, come on," he replies, slipping his arm around her shoulders. "I _have_ learned a few things over the years."

"Hmm," she smiles mischievously, leaning over to nuzzle his ear. "Got time for a few more, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Only the rest of my life, Ms. Walker," Chuck whispers, reveling in the shiver which races down his spine as Sarah's breath tickles his sensitive skin. Pulling her back toward him for another long lingering kiss, he threads his fingers through her golden hair as the surf pools around his feet and the world plunges into a variety of pinks and oranges, the southern California sun finishing its descent behind the rippling sea.

_Fin._


End file.
